Page 77 of False Comeback

Another weekend of shows passed. I fought Kit this time. Vince fought Dan, continuing their storyline of the Horseman’s Steed betraying his dullahan to team up with the Rolling Rimmer. It was an entertaining match. I watched from the backstage area.

When I got into work on Monday morning, I was already in a terrible mood. Lady Potato had wolfed down her breakfast too fast and vomited it back up into one of my shoes, which I knew had to be intentional. She was pure evil.

I was sure she was still punishing me for unintentionally abandoning her for an entire night, even though I’d fed her before leaving for the motel and she seemed to barely tolerate my presence when I was home. And it wasn’t like I’d anticipated being gone until morning. I’d expected to be home once again within a couple of hours at the most.

After changing into my running shorts, I left my dressing room while tying up my hair and stopped dead at the sight of Vince emerging from his. He froze too, and when our eyes met, I quickly looked away. I never let myself look at him for long, always afraid he’d see the desperate need still burning inside me.

I started heading for the doors at the end of the corridor, but froze again when I heard him clear his throat.

“Did, uh, did Corey tell you about the thing this afternoon?”

My stomach clenched tight. I’d momentarily forgotten about our ‘therapy’ session later today.

After a brief hesitation, I glanced over my shoulder at him and nodded once. “Yes. Two o’clock.”

He nodded back and stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. It made something like devastation flood my insides. Vince had always hated me, he’d always picked at everything I said and confidently made his dislike for me clear, but he’d never been uncomfortable in my presence. He was too cocky for that.

It was different now.

Clearly, he wanted to forget what had happened. All of it. Every encounter. Especially the last one. That feverish night of mindless fucking. The slow, almost savouring way he’d sucked me off at the end.

And how gentle he’d been with me the morning after, when I was sore and dazed and too sated to keep my defences up. I was sure that was what he wanted to forget the most.

Tightening my jaw, I turned back and strode through the doors, heading straight for the treadmill, needing it more than ever to burn off this awful, restless energy that plagued me.

If he wanted to forget it all, then I could forget too. I could move on just like he had.

I could.

—

I made sure to arrive at our appointment with Corey ten minutes early, so Vince and I wouldn’t end up awkwardly walking through the building together.

And, yes, perhaps I also did it to score some points and make myself look like the better, more willing participant in this farce. Over the course of the morning, my restlessness and anger had swelled, making my thoughts towards Vince increasingly bitter and resentful.

Fuck him for making me feel this way. Fuck him for doing this to me, for giving me everything I wanted for a single night. I knew the anger was irrational, but it still teemed inside me, and when I arrived at the correct door, my frame was stiff and I was in no fucking mood to talk about my feelings. Especially not with Vince in the room.

Especially not about Vince.

I rapped my knuckles on the door and looked around, my brow furrowed as it had been for most of the day. The room Corey had told us to come to was at the end of a corridor jutting off from the one that led to Holt’s office. A door further back had a plaque with Taylor’s name on it, and the one opposite said IT Manager, which meant that was where the ghoul Dan was dating worked.

“Enter,” I heard Corey call airily from inside the room.

I tried to smooth out my expression as I opened the door, but I knew I failed. Looking around, I could see that it was a largely empty and undecorated room with a table and stack of chairs pushed to one side. In the centre was a loveseat, a coffee table and a pink velvet armchair, with Corey artfully arranged in the latter.

He was wearing glasses that I knew for a fact he didn’t need, and there was a leather-bound notebook on his lap. He was dressed in an apricot-coloured smock shirt, fitted grey trousers and sharp-toed black stilettos. Demure choices for him, but he still looked good.

“Hi, darling.” He gestured at the loveseat. “Take a seat.”

“Lovely shirt.” I walked over and perched stiffly on one end. “How long do you think this will take?”

I couldn’t decide how I was feeling about this ridiculous situation. I was already exasperated by it, largely unwilling, but at the same time, my stomach was tightening with anticipation.

Vince would be here soon. We would have to talk. We would have to interact in some way, even if it was reluctantly.

Even if he was disgusted by everything that had happened between us.

I was pathetic. He loathed me, I still loathed him in some ways—mostly for the way I was feeling now—but a part of me was desperate to have him acknowledge me.